


Bad Blood

by GoldScribbles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldScribbles/pseuds/GoldScribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Draco returns to Hogwarts to finish his final year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> First time participator, and I’m not sure if I did this right so apologies if it is not what is usually found on Advent fests. Thanks to whomever it was that nominated me. My pen name was tossed out last year too, but didn’t see it in time to reply because I am terrible. This is dedicated to those that nominated me either times. I hope this meets expectation as I stick to my usual obsessions: war and gray zones. My assigned prompt is cinnamon.

  
****

**xxx**

Reconstruction is slow work: grueling and resentful.

Entire sections of the Hogwarts remain closed off. There is no shortage of money, but magic is limited and there are more pressing structures that require attention. Azkaban is the most important. After all, there’s no point to the war tribunals if there is no cage for the guilty.

The professors make do with the limited space and resources when the school year starts. Since Gryffindor Tower collapsed, Gryffindors share quarters with the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws. 

Slytherins remain in the dungeons. 

Draco unpacks his things. His clothes are pristine and neatly folded into the proper drawers. Not one stitch of fabric is new. His bed is in the corner closest to the door. No one claims the available spots around him. 

He’s fixing his tie around his neck in the mirror when he sees a familiar-looking girl approach him from behind. All idle chatter stops as everyone turns to watch.

“We can’t be seen with you,” she says plainly. “Being in this house already puts us at a disadvantage. We don’t need to make the targets on our backs bigger by associating with you, especially with your father’s upcoming trial.”

Draco doesn’t turn around, and pulls the wide end of the tie through the final loop. “So much for house loyalty.”

Her face pinches in anger. “Loyalty got us all into this mess. Now we’re going to get out, and do what we do best: survive. And that means we don’t talk to you, we don’t sit with you, and we don’t help you.”

Draco looks at her through the mirror. He remembers her now. Sarafine. One year below him, sharp, ambitious, and quick as a whip. Everyone knew she would be Head Girl, just like everyone knew Hermione Granger would’ve been had she actually came back for their final year. His eyes flicker down, taking in the prefect badge before returning to her unflinching gaze. 

“Do what you want. I don’t care.”

She scoffs and turns to leave. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

The others stand up and follow her out, leaving him alone to tighten the knot at his throat.

**xxx**

He dodges a spell in class, twisting his body to the side. The spell hits the wall with a _snap!_

Everyone turns to watch, some with smiles and poorly-concealed laughs.

“It was an honest mistake, Professor,” a sixth year says with a bashful shrug, clasping his hands in front of him. “I guess I just need more practice with my wandwork.”

The professor stares the boy down, to no effect. She glances at Draco, purses her lips and turns away. “See that you do, Mr. Wellsby. That’s enough excitement for this class. Everyone please turn to page twenty-six.”

No detention. No points off. 

After class, he overhears Wellsby and his friends. 

“Wandwork isn’t your problem, Quincy. It’s your aim,” a girl with wispy blonde hair teases.

Quincy glances at Draco out of the corner of his eyes, and grins. “I’m sure I’ll get some more practice in before the holidays.” 

The group walks out, laughing. Draco watches them leave in a group of reds and golds and blues and bronzes. 

His eyes linger on and the scarf draped around Wellsby’s neck, and thinks about how Gryffindors were known to be brave.

**xxx**

His ankles are jinxed together between classes and he falls on his side. Draco pushes himself up and sees Sarafine watching from the safety of a group of housemates. She meets his gaze coolly before walking away. As she turns, her prefect badge catches in the torchlight along the hall.

The other students walk around him, laughing and jeering as he struggles to unlock his legs. His books are kicked across the floor. 

When Draco finally arrives to his next class, the professor berates him in front of everyone and docks twenty points from his house.

**xxx**

In Advanced Arithmancy Studies, Professor Vector announces a project to done in pairs. At the end of class, Draco approaches her as students trickle out the door.

“Is it possible for me to do this assignment alone?”

“No, Mr. Malfoy. This assignment is worth thirty percent of your grade and the problem sets are much too complex for any student to attempt it alone.”

“I won’t be able to find a partner.”

Professor Vector frowns. “There is an even number of students in this class. You will find a partner because someone will need you too.”

He grits his teeth as anger flares through his body. Were all the professors so willfully blind? The only thing anyone needed from him was for him to disappear. But the feeling leaves him just as quickly it came, and he nods to Professor Vector before returning to his room. 

That night Draco lies in bed, weary and awake, and thinks about giving up, thinks about packing his clothes and his books and going home, leaving only his Hogwarts cloak and house tie behind. He almost gets up to start, but instead he closes his eyes and waits for sleep to come and wipe his thoughts away.

**xxx**

A week later, Draco sits at an empty table towards the back of the room. The students trickle in, slowly filling the tables surrounding him.

Professor Vector arrives, and nearly closes the door on a student who manages to slip inside behind her. Draco hears the exchange but doesn't look up from his parchment, preoccupied with finding a way to tell his mother of his impending failing grade without making her worry. 

Someone drops a bag by his table and pulls out the empty chair next to him. 

He glances to the side at the student, and snaps his quill.

**xxx**

He is the only Slytherin from his year to return.

However, he is not the only one from his year to come back.

**xxx**

Hermione Granger is sitting next to him.

The class falls quiet. 

Professor Vector glances up from her pile of notes on her desk and nods. “Good. Everyone’s here.” She waves her wand and a two-inch thick packet appears on every table. “This is your assignment, and you have until the end of the semester to complete it. Take this class to familiarize yourselves with the problems and to come up with a plan of attack with your partner.”

Granger takes the packet and turns to him, unmindful under the weight of their classmates’ eyes, and says, “Let’s get started.”

**xxx**

Draco knew she had returned to Hogwarts. He’s seen her occasionally, brown, bushy hair bouncing with her every step, a bag full of books flung over her shoulders. He can always tell when she's close from the abnormally high levels of tension that fills any room they both occupy.

They’ve never interacted until now.

A sixth year Gryffindor approaches their table. “Hermione, I was hoping we would be partners,” he said.

She looks at the boy with a prefect’s smile. “I know we spoke about it yesterday, Armando, but the truth is that a lot of people asked me to partner with them. I couldn’t choose. So I decided to take the last chair in class and partner with that student. I hope you’ll understand.”

“Yes, but now…” Armando slants a wary gaze at Draco.

“What?” she asks.

Armando opens his mouth to reply, hesitates, and closes it. He shakes his head and returns to his desk.

“Let’s take a look at this and see how far we can get today,” she says.

She looks at him when she talks, and there is no wariness, no hostility. It’s as if they have no history together. 

Draco doesn’t trust this, doesn’t trust her, but he thinks about the letter he planned to write to his mother and figures this is the easier route. 

He nods and gestures to the assignment in her hands.

**xxx**

Arithmancy is not their only class together, but they’ve always moved around each other so that they never cross paths. At least, until now.

She approaches him in Advanced Charms to complain about a particular equation that was giving her trouble. He sighs, before snatching the parchment out of her hands to see.

“It’s five,” he says, tossing it back to her with a flick of his wrist.

“I thought so too at first, but look at the end of the equation here. You’ll see that—”

“It’s _five_ , Granger.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“The professor just walked in. You should go back to your seat now.”

Her lips press into a severe line as she stands up and walks away. He’s surprised when she returns with her things and drops into the seat next to him. He can feel all eyes on them, and hates her for drawing the attention, hates how she doesn’t realize he’d rather face a pack of werewolves than deal with this, with her.

“We are going to discuss this problem as soon as class is over,” she says primly.

He rests his lips against his fist, and takes a deep breath.

**xxx**

Because of the project, Draco finds himself in her presence more and more.

Occasionally she walks down the halls with him to discuss the progress on his end.

“I can’t believe Professor Vector is giving us another project on top of the one we already have, and homework.” She catches his surprised look and continues, “Not that I don’t appreciate good, challenging work, but honestly! It’s a bit ridiculous.”

“I was under the impression that you’ve met the woman before,” he replies without thought. “It's her lifelong dream to fail all of her students.”

She laughs, and it startles him. He looks at her and sees she's surprised too, holding a hand over her mouth, unsure if she is allowed to have a moment like this with him. They stand in the empty hallway, staring at each other tensely, before her laughter trickles out again, louder and truer than before.

“Isn’t this so strange?” she asks, slightly hunched over. “Me with you, laughing?”

The tension in his body unfurls. Weeks upon weeks of her seeking him out as if it weren’t out of the ordinary and she finally acknowledges it. He’s dizzy with relief, somehow, and manages a small grin. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Granger?”

She straightens up, face glowing pink. “Something I’ve never done before.”

**xxx**

The looks don’t stop, but somehow, he doesn’t mind them anymore.

He’s more preoccupied with how much he’s starting to enjoy her company.

**xxx**

One day, she sits with him at the Slytherin table for lunch after Arithmancy.

The Great Hall is abuzz with nervous energy. 

Sarafine walks over and plants her hands on the table in front of Hermione. “What are you doing?”

“Eating.”

“You can eat at the Gryffindor table.”

Hermione looks at her calmly and asks, “Is there a rule against me sitting here?”

“I’ll be sure to bring it to a vote at the next prefect meeting.”

“Well until you do, I’m going to continue my lunch.” Hermione scoops up a forkful of green beans into her mouth without breaking eye contact.

“Whatever you’re trying to accomplish, it won’t work,” Sarafine hisses.

“Is there a problem here?” Two Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff stand behind Hermione, staring Sarafine down.

“Yes, one of your Gryffindors got lost and refuses to go back to where she belongs,” she snaps. 

“And where does she belong?” one Gryffindor demands.

“Not here.”

“Trust a Slytherin to never change her tune, even after what it’s cost everyone,” sneers the Hufflepuff.

Sarafine looks angry enough to spit poison. “You think you’re the only ones who’ve suffered? That we were all fighting on the other side?”

Hermione rises to her feet, hands outstretched. “Everyone needs to back off. I’m just having lunch with a classmate.”

Draco watches the confrontation with a critical eye.

“Hermione, maybe you should come sit with us. There’s someone who wants to talk to you about tutoring,” the other Gryffindor coaxes.

“If that person wants to talk to me, I am right here.” She levels a stern look at the group. 

Headmistress McGonagall intervenes at this moment and disperses the students, avoiding a fight from erupting that would have surely made the Great Hall the next closed off area in the castle.

Hermione stays next to him and they finish their food in silence.

**xxx**

A letter arrives from his mother with news about his father’s trial. It will take place in three days. She wants him to stay at Hogwarts.

_You have protection there. The reporters can’t touch you as long as you’re in the castle._

His owl perches on the chair closest to the fireplace, thawing the frost from its feathers.

He thinks of his mother, alone in a rented apartment while their home remains under siege by the Ministry, holding her composure against a slew of journalists. He thinks of his father, in Azkaban again. 

Draco throws the letter in the fire and watches the word _protection_ burn to ash.

**xxx**

Draco stumbles across an argument by the Headmistress’ office.

He peeks around the corner and sees an oddly familiar sight: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, staring Hermione Granger down.

“Hermione, be serious,” Harry says, exasperated.

“What makes you think I’m not?” 

“This isn’t like your S.P.E.W. campaign, Hermione. People will actually pay attention,” Ron shouts, his face a mottled red. 

“That’s really nice of you to say, Ronald,” she replies sarcastically. 

“You’re talking about abolishing the houses!”

Draco feels his breath catch in his throat.

“We _should_ get rid of them! What purpose do they serve? To classify one student from the next on who’s the bravest or the slyest? People are more than just one trait.” 

“You are trying to upend the school’s structure, to undo the very founders’ vision of the school,” Harry says. "This isn't like you."

“The original vision was to have a school that teaches children how to develop and control their magic. Ego and prejudice were what caused the school to split into factions. We have the opportunity now to unite everything again, and I’m not going to let that go to waste.”

“You won’t succeed,” Ron says grimly.

Draco sees the hurt flash across her face. She swallows once and tilts her chin up. “Watch me.”

“Don’t expect to come over next week for the holidays.”

“Ron!” Harry protests.

“Don’t expect to still have a girlfriend,” Hermione fires back.

“What girlfriend?” Ron scoffs and storms away.

“Hermione,” Harry says quietly. “What is this about, really?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” She walks away, heading in Draco’s direction. Before he can hide, she bumps into him. His name slips out of her mouth.

“Draco.”

There's a strange, uncomfortable pressure on his chest that prevents him from speaking. He turns around and leaves.

**xxx**

The day of the trial is the day the Arithmancy project is due.

Draco glances outside the window, watching the heavy snowfall twist on violent winter gusts.

“I’ve checked the work twice. I’m sure we’re going to get an O,” Hermione beams at him, neatly tucking their parchment papers together. 

Something about the stack and her proud smile breaks something in him. It feels like he’s waking up from a long sleep, and is suddenly aware of everything again. What did it matter if they passed this class? If he gets an O, did it guarantee that his father will be pardoned? Will his family be allowed to return home?

With a flick of his wand, their assignment catches on fire.

“ _What are you doing_?” Hermione shrieks. She quickly extinguishes the flames, but the damage is done. Several pages have a hole in the center with crisp blackened edges.

Professor Vector approaches the table. “What is going on here?”

Hermione sputters helplessly, fingers still clutching their ruined work. 

“A small accident, Professor,” Draco says with a polite smile.

Professor Vector tsks. She taps her wand gently against the pages and mutters a spell. Slowly, the charred edges of the parchments fall away and begins to knit itself whole. Even the burnt away words appear, faded and raised like a scar. 

“There. Crisis averted.” With another wave of her wand, the paper floats out of Hermione’s hands to the front desk. “Try and be more careful next time.”

“We will, Professor,” Hermione says through gritted teeth, glaring murderously at him.

Draco grins, feeling more and more like his old self.

**xxx**

Hermione pulls him into an empty room after class.

“Apologize to me.”

“For what?”

“ _Apologize_.”

“Like I said, it was an accident, Granger.”

Her livid expression is familiar and comforting. A small part of his world is right once more. She takes a deep breath in an attempt at calmness. 

“Listen, Draco, I understand that you are under enormous pressure, especially with your father’s trial—”

“I don’t recall us being on a first name basis, Granger. And you should know better than to presume to know anything about me.”

“Don’t do this. We’re in a good place right now. I don’t know why you’re trying to ruin it, but please stop.”

He laughs. “What’s this really about, Granger? All this talking and incessant following. Are you trying to push your agenda of a houseless Hogwarts by testing it out on the rotten Slytherin? Or is it something much simpler? Did you take a fancy to me?”

Hermione scoffs. “Don’t be absurd.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Fine, you want me to say it? I don’t fancy you. I can’t even fathom having those feelings for a boy who can’t get out of his own way long enough to grow up,” she says with blistering anger. 

“Are we still talking about me, or are we talking about your sad little boyfriend?” A mean grin slashes across his face. “My mistake. It’s ex-boyfriend now, isn’t it?”

She barks out a sharp laugh. “Very mature, Malfoy. Thanks for proving my point.”

“I thought I was _Draco_ now.”

“What you are is a lost cause I should have recognized sooner.” She slams the door behind her.

**xxx**

His father’s trial runs longer than anyone anticipates. The verdict is postponed until after the holidays.

Hermione doesn’t reach out to him again. Draco tells himself he doesn’t care.

**xxx**

The semester is over and everyone in the castle is asleep. In the morning, there will be a flurry of noise and movement as students prepare to return home for Christmas break.

Draco won’t be going home, nor will he be with his mother. Nevertheless, the castle is festive enough with its great tree and decorations. It’s the best option for him.

He sneaks into the Great Hall and sits on the floor, gazing at the tree covered with dangling ornaments and silvery white tinsels draped on its branches. It’s modest compared to the massive ones he’s had in the past, and he feels a fleeting moment of conceit at that thought. 

There are no presents underneath the branches of the Great Hall tree. Even if there were, none would have his name on it. 

He wonders if there ever will be again.

The door creaks open slowly. His eyes snap up to see who it is, and he stills at the bushy head of hair that appears. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice softer than he intends.

“I couldn’t sleep so I went down to the kitchens to fix myself a drink. Was on my way back to my room when I saw you,” she replies in an equally quiet voice. 

Perhaps this time of night requires hushed tones and lowered defenses.

Hermione’s knees crack as she sits near him on the floor. It’s the closest they’ve been since their fight two weeks ago. At this distance, he can smell her drink. Hot chocolate, but seasoned with some kind of earthy spice.

“What’s in that?”

Her lips curve up slightly. “It’s a family recipe. I was feeling a little homesick, and thought this would help cure it.”

“Is it working?”

She shrugs, and takes a gulp. “I’m glad I ran into you. We didn’t leave things off at a good place.”

He sighs wearily. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” She pauses, visibly weighing a question in her mind. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“The fight I had with Harry and Ron. You were there, and I know you overheard it. Go on and ask.”

Draco snorts. He _is_ curious, but he doesn’t care as much as she thinks. Nevertheless, he relents. “Why are you trying to abolish the houses, Granger?”

Hermione rubs her fingers against the ceramic cup, drawing the heat from the drink into her skin. “I saw how you were treated when the school year started. I watched it happen and did nothing. Truth be told, I’ve fantasized about doing those things over the years: hexing you in class, jinxing you in the halls. So when those things were happening to you, I was glad. Put a smile on my face for weeks.”

“Then your conscience struck and you decide to go on this mad crusade,” Draco finishes with a weary sigh. 

“Actually it was a Slytherin.” She smiles at his surprise.”He’s a first year, and I caught him setting a nasty trap for you in the corridors. He fumbled through a rather poor excuse, before finally telling me that he had to do it.” Hermione lets out a short, bitter laugh. “He said that he was getting bullied so badly by the other houses. At first he thought it was because he’s American. His family had just moved to London for his mum’s job when his magic showed up, you see. Then he realized that it was because he got sorted into Slytherin, even though his mum is a Muggle, and he never once thought a bad thing about Muggles or Muggleborns. No one believed him, so he tried fitting in by insulting his own house, but that backfired too since it’s despicable to turn on your own housemates. So he started to hate you because everyone hated you and blamed you for your family’s part in the war.”

She finishes her hot chocolate and stares into it. “Talking to him made me realize that the houses are hurting the rebuilding efforts instead of helping. Your suffering made me feel good for a little while, but it didn’t make anything better. The wizarding world is still in disrepair. My parents are somewhere in Australia with no inkling that I exist.”

He tilts his head up stares at the enchanted ceiling, watching snow fall gently from the darkness.

A silence falls over them. 

Peeves floats through the walls, intent on toppling the tree. He spots the two students and smiles gleefully. But just as he is about to bellow a warning, something about the moment gives the poltergeist pause. He’s never seen these particular students together in such a way: quiet and still, yet restless somehow. Even with his limited capacity for empathy, he senses that this is a delicate moment that will not tolerate intrusion. 

Peeves does not seize this opportunity for mischief, and floats away undetected. A miracle indeed.

Hermione takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “The part of me that was glad others were punishing you, I need to let her go. She is still stuck in the past with the war. We all are, and the war is over. We need to move forward together as a community, and we can’t with these kinds of divisions holding us back.”

“You’re not angry anymore?”

“Of course I’m angry. I’m always angry, especially at you when you pull stunts like setting months of hard work ablaze because you were in a mood.”

“So much for letting go of past resentments.”

“Years of being sneered at and ridiculed are not easily shed, Draco.” She sets the cup down, and it vanishes back to the kitchens. He’s _Draco_ again. ”But there have been times when we have moments like this, and I think of how well we could have gotten along. And suddenly all my thoughts start with _if onlys_ and _maybes_ , and I get so furious with myself for having these _ideas_.” 

“What ideas?” He holds his breath.

“Fanciful ones.”

She said she didn’t fancy him, wasn’t in love with him in the slightest, and he believes her. But sitting next to her on the cold stone floor, he realizes that maybe she could have been, that she would have been, if things had been different. 

And he finds himself having strangely fanciful ideas too. 

“I’m sorry.”

She whips her head to the side to look at him. He pulls his eyes away from the snow and meets her warm brown gaze. In that moment, they come to a silent understanding.

_I’m sorry I didn’t like you, that you didn’t like me._

_Me too._

He finds himself drifting nearer to her, the sweet scent of chocolate drawing him close. She tenses up, but doesn’t stop him. In fact, she tilts her chin up and tentatively closes the gap between them. 

Her lips are soft. Her breath is hot in his mouth, her tongue sweetly spiced with her drink.

Hermione tastes bitter and sweet ( _like an old yearning suddenly eased_ ) and warm and spicy ( _like sunshine on his face_ ).

He pulls away after a moment, eyes still closed. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

She laughs breathlessly, shaky with their secret. “Happy Christmas.”

Draco’s mouth waters from the fragrant smell of her skin and the lingering taste of chocolate and cinnamon on his lips. He knows this won't happen again after tonight, so he steals her breath one last time, longer and surer than before. His hands tangle in her hair, trying to hold onto this impossible moment for as long as he can.

Hermione doesn't mind. She pulls him closer, and in her arms, he thinks, _This is what forgiveness feels like._

**xxx**

Two days later, Lucius Malfoy is acquitted of all crimes.

**xxx**

Reconstruction is bitter work, but it’s progress. 


End file.
